


The Shape of Things to Come

by Scriptor_Bellum



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003)
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, F/M, Gen, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Mentions of Parental Verbal Abuse, More tags to be added!, Multi, Recovery, Rewrite, Sexual Content, and the characters are the same OCs and some of the themes are the same, but I'll try my best to list triggers in the beginning notes of each chapter, but it's SUPER canon divergent now so a lot has changed and I think it's improved, mature themes, mentions of parental neglect, most of the tags here so far are for stuff that happens later in the fic, pls enjoy!!, so make sure you read those!, the original fic was something I wrote like... fuck idk maybe 10 years ago?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22153321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scriptor_Bellum/pseuds/Scriptor_Bellum
Summary: Darker, grittier, improved rewrite of an ancient fic. MEGA canon divergent.Even as adults, the Turtles are sworn to protect New York City among the gloom it has become. With the return of old friends, resurgence of old foes, and new romances thrown into the mix, they’re about to be thrust into all manner of fights they may not be ready for. OCs abound!Raphael/OC, Leonardo/OC, Michelangelo/OC, Donatello/OC, Leatherhead/OC, Casey/April
Relationships: Casey Jones/April O'Neil (TMNT), Donatello/OC, Leatherhead/OC, Leonardo/OC, Michelangelo/OC, Rapahel/OC
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	The Shape of Things to Come

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everybody, and welcome to another installment of "Bellum Does Whatever the Hell She Wants"! XD
> 
> Okay, so, maybe I should explain myself, haha. It's been a LONG time since I've been in the mood to write TMNT anything; gosh, since I was in high school I think? But I recently reconnected with the series and it's been amazing.
> 
> So instead of starting another fic and creating new characters, I thought... why don't I just rewrite an old fic of mine? Genius! I always love doing rewrites, to be honest.
> 
> Since I didn't want to just throw away my OCs from my old fic, The Things That Make Us (which was only posted on Fanfiction.net), I figured I'd just repurpose them, create them anew, and do a better job of telling their stories. They were always ones I loved and wanted to flesh out more anyway, and I just lost inspiration for their fic. But now that I'm back into it, even though it might take me forever because I do other writing than just fics nowadays, I think I can do them and their stories justice.
> 
> Here we are now! As stated in the summary, this fic will be HELLA canon divergent because I love playing around with canon divergence, and I wanted to explore the turtles in a more adult capacity - I thought it'd be fun!
> 
> For the prologue, I know it's WILDLY LONG for a prologue, it's like, fuckin', 10,000 words and I told myself if I tripled the word count I meant to do for the prologue, I was gonna eat my hat, so I guess I'm gonna eat my damn hat, lol. Anyway, the reason I wanted to start here was that this takes place about 5-6 years before the main storyline, and it's where the canon divergence begins to take root, and I didn't wanna show the ENTIRE thing in one huge flashback or multiple flashbacks.
> 
> So... instead... it's one huge prologue. XD
> 
> Okay, well, starting things off, we have the beginnings of Leatherhead and Avery's story! Avery comes to work at Bishop's lab, and in the original story she was some kind of scientist/lab assistant, but I've heavily retooled her character to hopefully make her a little more relatable. Also because I suck at science talk.
> 
> It's also worth mentioning that, although Avery's a data entry clerk, I have no idea how data entry works since that's not my profession. I did some research, but it may not be 100% correct, so to any data entry clerks out there, I'm sorry if I got it wrong!
> 
> ALRIGHT I think I've babbled enough here, so please enjoy the prologue! The real story and plot will start next chapter; this is mostly just groundwork to show the start of their relationship and show where things begin to diverge from canon. If you've read the original, rest assured that Jamie, Kim, Taylor, and Marie (formerly Maria!) will be big parts of this rewrite just like they were in the original. And if you've read the original, I hope you enjoy the rewrite!
> 
> So also just for clarity's sake, here are the pairings/ships!:
> 
> -Leatherhead/OC (Avery)
> 
> -Raphael/OC (Jamie)
> 
> -Leonardo/OC (Kim)
> 
> -Michelangelo/OC (Taylor)
> 
> -Donatello/OC (Marie)
> 
> -Casey/April
> 
> All romantic, and the fic will also include themes of friendship, family, found family, and all that beautiful stuff!
> 
> **BEFORE YOU READ, POSSIBLE TRIGGERS for this chapter: mild gaslighting, talk of parental neglect/verbal abuse, mentions of alcoholism, medical experimentation and torture, mentions of needles and scalpels.**
> 
> This is also being cross-posted to Fanfiction.net!
> 
> Please leave a review if you liked it, and let me know which parts you liked best, and if there's anything specific you'd like to see in future chapters! Mwah! *heart hands*

To say that Avery Wilde has no business working in a geneticist’s lab is perhaps not the kindest way to sum up her current situation – but kind or not, it isn’t entirely inaccurate.

Being recently laid off and then evicted from her apartment left her desperate in the last few months. Living with her friend Sherri while looking for a new job was enough for stress to set in, because according to her parents at least, not pulling her weight makes her a drain on society. It means she’s a failure; a parasite mooching off everyone who works for their money.

Sherri has assured her many times that it’s fine. _“_ _Please, they don’t know what they’re talking about._ _You’re looking for work, and besides, you cook and clean and_ _shit_ _for me_ _when you don’t HAVE to. Does that sound like a leech to you, huh?_ _You do more than J_ _eff_ _and I don’t make_ _ **him**_ _pay rent either_ _, p_ _fff_ _!_ _”_

No matter what her friend says, as long as she doesn’t have a job, Avery feels like she’s not contributing anything to the world. Day in and day out she stays in the house, looking at classifieds, surfing job websites, and watching TV while she does things like wash dishes or get things together for dinner.

Some people might consider it the ideal situation. She does chores, so Sherri isn’t going to kick her out; that means there’s a roof over her head, food to eat, and she doesn’t need a 9-to-5 job to pay for any of it. On the surface, it seems like a sweet deal.

Avery, however, can’t stand it. Her days are monotonous, interrupted by bouts of anxiety and self-loathing over the fact that she isn’t _earning_ any of this. It’s menial and repetitive, and unlike Sherri and her husband, she doesn’t have anything to break it up. As an additional kick in the teeth, since her previous job literally didn’t need her anymore, and she can’t currently find any jobs in data entry, the work she’s trained to do is becoming obsolete.

In the haze from one day to the next, she’s become convinced that the world is leaving her behind.

That is, until she sees a listing online for a data entry opening for a laboratory run by a man named Bishop.

She’s so incredibly nervous once she goes in for an interview and gets the details of the position. Bishop works for the government in a sector that sounds like something out of a science fiction movie. Staunchly anti-alien, and the man himself seems oddly devoted to studying them in the worst ways. He strikes her, specifically, as a cold, sadistic, intolerant man who likes to watch people squirm. The language he uses to describe these hypothetical aliens (“and mutants,” he adds during their conversation) is shockingly impersonal. It would be considered strongly dehumanizing were it used to describe, for instance, her.

Something about this man doesn’t sit well with Avery. The aura he radiates is one of quiet danger, and makes her feel as though it would be a very, very bad idea to cross him in any way. Though he isn’t outwardly cruel to her, she can’t shake the feeling that he is cruel to other beings – including these aliens and mutants, if they exist.

That makes her uneasy.

But she wants so badly to _b_ _e_ _needed_ again that when he calls her to offer her the position, she accepts it with only a moment’s hesitation.

A week of rigorous background checks and signing things she doesn’t fully comprehend that basically swear her to secrecy, then she comes in for her first day.

Walking through the halls to the door where she was told to meet Bishop is chilling. The security team ran her through several metal detectors and frisked her, though they did explain that the frisking was only because of it being her first day. Not every day would involve that. “Unless you give us or the boss a reason to be suspicious,” they snicker as they let her through.

The halls are freezing, barely mitigated by the white lab coat Bishop issued her for some reason. Why is she wearing this thing? She’s one of the lab personnel, but she isn’t qualified to do anything but record and compile data. Everyone else she sees in one of these coats seems to be doing something technical. One of them is putting locks on a cage with some small, whining animal inside it. Another is filling up a hypodermic needle before turning to face presumably another animal.

Awful noises of discomfort follow her even when she finally arrives at the door. There’s a big number 7 where a window ought to be, and a plaque next to the door that she’s not close enough to read. Her attention focuses on Bishop, who’s already there, staring intently at his watch. “Uh, sir. Here… here I am for my first day. I’m not late, am I? Security kind of…”

“Oh, no. You’re right on time. A very good impression.” If Bishop were the kind to crack a smile, he would probably give her one. As it is, he simply grabs the doorknob. “Now, before you get started, I feel the need to warn you that this will be different from any other data entry job you’ve had in the past. You’ll be working in a rather direct manner with one of our subjects. You’ll see things that will likely shock you. However, you remember from your contracts that you are not to discuss any of it with anyone outside this building.”

She’s starting to get a bad feeling. What does he mean, _working in a direct manner_ with one of their _subjects?_ Does he mean that those animals she saw in the halls on her way here are subjects? She’ll be working with them? That makes her heart drop into her stomach. Not for a lack of trying, she’s never been good with animals. None of them seem to like her. Even Sherri and Jeff’s fish hide in the little corals when she goes to feed them. “Oh… uh, well, my lips are sealed. And I… I don’t know how great I’ll be at this, but I’ll certainly do my best.”

He gives her a nod. “I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful fit here. When we enter the room, the contents may well startle you. I have no doubt that you’ll adjust quickly, though. I’ll be personally observing you for the morning to ensure that you know all your duties and grasp the way we do things here. For the afternoon, provided that you do well during the first portion of the day, you’ll be allowed to work on your own.”

Some light reflects off his glasses. If she isn’t mistaken, his eyes narrow a little.

“Be aware, however, that you are never truly alone. We employ the latest technology in security cameras complete with audio recording capabilities. To ensure that things stay… safe. Is that clear?”

“I… yes, sir, crystal.” The thought of being under constant surveillance is a little unnerving. Though she sees why it’s necessary. This is technically a government facility, after all.

“Good.” Bishop gives her one final once-over, then opens the door. “Ladies first.”

As soon as the door opens, there’s a low growling noise from somewhere inside, followed by a demand that’s oddly desperate: “ _Release me…! Please!_ ”

The voice is deep, clearly male, and sounds… muffled, somehow? When Avery ventures farther into the room, she can see that there’s a large tank set up against one wall. It’s like the fish aquarium at Sherri’s house, except about a hundred times bigger, and looking at what’s inside, it’s apparent why. The tank appears to be home to a huge crocodile – who’s standing on two feet, meaning that the water comes to just above his chest.

Some pieces are trying to come together in her mind, although she doesn’t want to believe it. There’s nobody else in here. Unless that voice was coming from somewhere other than this room, that can only mean that this animal was the one talking.

That possibility, even though she won’t fully believe it until she actually sees him speak, makes her hands fly over her mouth. “Oh, my God…”

“Now, now,” Bishop clicks his tongue as if chastising a child who’s throwing a tantrum. “Is that any way to welcome a new employee? You don’t want to chase her away, do you? Like you seem to have done to so many others. And here I thought you were starting to settle in and behave yourself. My mistake.”

He’s acting like this is all perfectly normal. Avery, on the other hand, can feel her head trying to spin. Her heels click on the tile floor as she backs up toward the opposite wall, unsure what to make of this. “What… what the hell…”

Bishop adjusts his glasses. “Would you look at that, you freak? You’ve terrified this poor woman. See if you can mind any manners you have so you don’t send her running for the hills.”

The croc is fixing Bishop with an absolutely withering glare, full of hate, and seems to have been completely focused on the man since they walked into the room. Upon hearing these comments, however, he snorts some air out of his nostrils before looking toward Avery. It’s like he’s seeing her for the first time, realizing that someone else is here. “I… no, no, please… oh, please do not leave because of me. I am so sorry, I…”

“Oh, God–” There’s no denying it after that. He spoke just now, all those razor-sharp teeth glinting in the light, showing off that impressive maw of his. It’s enough to have her questioning everything she knows; though, she supposes, she really shouldn’t be surprised. Bishop was talking all sorts of fantasies about aliens and mutants in her interview.

It simply turns out that fantasy is in fact reality.

For a few seconds, her chest heaves with the beginnings of hyperventilation, until she realizes that this crocodile, whoever or whatever he is, doesn’t mean her any harm. He _apologized_ for scaring her despite the fact that he hasn’t done anything but exist. Her eyes study him from head to tail as she tries to pick her words carefully. “I… no, I – I’m sorry, uh, you know? It’s, it’s just, where I’m from… animals don’t… generally talk. Ah – hah, well, I mean. Unless you’re talking about, you know, parrots or something. But, uh, but not… not crocodiles. It’s… it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize, uhm…?”

She trails off, more than anything else because she doesn’t know if he has a name. Although, that’s probably for the best, because she doesn’t quite know how she would continue the conversation after that anyway.

“Ah, yes, introductions. How rude of me.” Bishop takes the reins before Avery even has the chance to regain control. “Miss Wilde, this is Leatherhead, one of our subjects here in the lab. Bit of a temper on him, so don’t take him too seriously.” His attention shifts, as if bored, to the croc in the tank. “This,” he continues with a gesture toward her, “is Avery Wilde. She works in data entry, and the two of you will be in each other’s company for the majority of her time here.”

Leatherhead offers a nod in her direction. It seems he’s a bit too worried about his behavior to say anything else.

Avery, meanwhile, comes up with a fumble of a greeting, “H-how do you do?”

Those reptilian eyes flicker to her, wide, almost disbelieving. As if he thinks he’s heard her wrong. “… I… have been better. Thank you.” Just those few words strike some chord of sympathy in her.

He’s not here of his own free will, is he? He wasn’t made or born here. He didn’t seek out this place. Someone decided to capture him and trap him here, and he is _miserable._ Even if they weren’t doing experiments on him, which they most likely are, if the way Bishop speaks to him is any indication of what it’s like on a daily basis, he isn’t being treated well.

All she can do is shake her head. She doesn’t even know what to say or how to even begin to formulate what to say.

She just has a horrible sinking feeling in her gut that’s berating her for even taking this job.

Even if either of them were going to say anything else, Bishop is evidently loath to give up any fraction of the control he’s exerting over the situation. He puts a hand on Avery’s arm, pointing her toward a computer that’s on. “Now that you’ve become acquainted with our subject, I can explain to you the duties of your job. I did say you would be working directly with him, so allow me to elaborate on that.”

The next thing he brings to her attention are the various leads that are attached to Leatherhead’s body and the screens that are near his tank. “You see, we’re monitoring this mutant’s vital signs very closely. Heart rate, blood pressure, temperature, oxygen saturation – you name it. We want a very clear picture of what _baseline_ means for his body.”

“Okay…” So far, this is something Avery’s able to follow even though she’s not a scientist. She’s seen a few medical documentaries in her time, so this all makes sense, and she likes to think of herself as a fairly smart person. “So, you, uh… you just want to figure out what’s normal for him as opposed to… what’s normal for a human or a crocodile.”

“How very astute of you for rephrasing it. The ability to summarize in a succinct manner is one mark of intelligence.” Bishop’s gaze follows several of the wires. “What we’re analyzing requires an enormous amount of data on his vitals. Hour to hour, day to day, week to week, month to month. We can’t take only the readings from one or two days and call that a pattern. This kind of thing is something that needs to be observed and recorded over a much longer period of time.”

She nods, and when he pulls the chair out for her, she carefully takes a seat. “Yeah… of course. A couple of days isn’t a pattern. Not using data from an extended period of time gives you a skewed idea of what’s normal and what’s abnormal.” That’s something that’s going to apply even to things that aren’t necessarily medical; it’s not a foreign concept to her.

“Absolutely. Now, you likely haven’t had to do anything like this in your previous jobs, but what you’re going to be doing for us is recording this data. After you have it recorded, you’ll get it organized.”

Well, he’s right that she’s seldom been asked to actually record the data herself. It’s more typical that she’s given papers of the data, then enters it into spreadsheets and documents, runs it through algorithms to get results, and sometimes gives reports. “So…” She looks toward Leatherhead’s tank. “I’ll be copying down everything from the monitors, then entering it into whatever program you’re using?”

A clipboard is picked from from a nearby table and handed in her direction. “You’ll even have your own clipboard.”

Her hand takes it, but she’s still focused on Leatherhead. This is all so surreal. In what world does she have to take medical measurements from a humanoid crocodile when she’s supposed to be a data entry clerk? “I… sir, I-I don’t know if I can… do this.”

“Nonsense. Your former employers all said you were a gem at this kind of work. Everyone needs to be challenged a bit now and then.” Bishop grabs something else from the same table. When he turns to approach the tank, it turns out to be a full syringe. “Besides, if you’re concerned about his temper, we have a sedative which we’ve deemed is relatively safe to use on him. It’s unlikely that you’ll ever be near him unless you have to reattach a lead – however, to be completely certain he won’t try to hurt you, all you need to do is inject him with the recommended dose of this. One dose is usually enough to knock him unconscious, and comes with the added side effect of keeping him quiet so you don’t have to listen to that mouth of his.”

“I do not want to hurt _anyone!_ ” Leatherhead protests. His tail swishes in the water, creating a splashing noise that in any other circumstance would be rather soothing. “It is you who hurts people, Bishop! Please do not use that on me…!”

Avery is out of the chair immediately, one hand hugging the new clipboard to her chest, the other reaching for Bishop’s shoulder. “S-sir, sir! I… I don’t know if that’s going to be necessary. I, ah… I want to see… how he does without it, first. A-anyway, um… can’t… can’t a sedative like that alter his vitals? If we use that, I’d… have to make a note of it. Which I can do, obviously, b-but, you know… I don’t want to seem like I’m… making things difficult on my first day.”

Something about the way Leatherhead said he doesn’t want to hurt anybody sounded genuine to her. If he doesn’t intend to hurt her, there’s no use for a sedative to keep him from doing so, right? She knows what strong sedatives are like, and that kind of feeling isn’t anything she wants to inflict on anyone, human, animal, or mutant, if she doesn’t have to.

Bishop slowly sets the syringe back down. “You do make a point. There’s likely going to be a lot of organizing to do, because the people who have been recording the data before you weren’t trained in data entry. No need to make things any harder on you than they have to be. Still, if you do find that you have to use the sedative, there’s one dose right there. I’ll show you where the syringes and the vials of sedative are before I leave you on your own, just in case.”

“Okay.” She doesn’t anticipate having to use it. What a cruel thing to do to someone – put them under the influence of a drug that they’re begging not to be given, just so you don’t have to deal with them. A deep breath is pulled through her lips as she takes a pen from Bishop and begins to write down, with shaky hands, the numbers that are displayed on all the monitors. “So, speaking of… who did this before me?”

Bishop gives a mirthless chuckle. “No one filled this specific position before you. You see, Leatherhead here is a new arrival. He’s only been here for about two weeks. The people who have been recording and entering the data are other scientists, but not only are they not trained on data entry, doing this pulls them away from their own work.” He puts both hands in his pockets.

“The other scientists record of the data from their experiments, and monitor their subjects day-to-day, because most of them only have one. All the experiments performed on Leatherhead have been by my own hand, so I record that data myself. As for the day to day data, however, I have other things to attend to, which mean I’m almost never able to take down that data myself. Having someone whose focus is specifically to record these sets of data for Leatherhead from day to day, with nothing else in the job description, well… it became necessary.”

The words _day to day_ cause Avery’s hope to fade into a mere little spark. It conjures up images of these past few weeks, doing little else but household chores, feeling like she was in a rut, like she was useless. It makes her think that this job is going to be tedious, the same every day. Like it isn’t work that’s changing anything in the world.

Even though she’s never been a mover or a shaker, the idea that what she does won’t impact _anything at all_ is crushing.

“Well,” she says, “I’m… I’m glad I’ll be able to help.” She’s drawing on her retail experience from high school and university to put on her best customer service voice, and she wonders if anybody notices that she’s anything less than happy. “Looks like I’ve got all the measurements. Thanks for, uh, staying chill, Leatherhead,” she adds with a small smile toward him.

For whatever reason, the croc sinks down in the tank so that he’s on all fours, then cautiously down further so that he’s in a lying position. “Thank _you_ for not using the sedative.”

Bishop all but tears Avery away from any real exchange of words with the so-called subject, guiding her toward the chair. “Everyone’s awfully thankful today. Now, what I’d be thankful for is to watch you enter the first data of the day into the program. Would you mind showing me how you’re used to doing it?”

“Oh… of course.” As much as she understands that having Bishop breathing down her neck every day, it’s enough that it puts her on edge.

“You’re doing a great job so far, I have to say. After you take your lunch, I think I can leave you by yourself to organize everything.”

That smile he gives her is probably the closest to sincere he can give, but at the same time, it reminds her of a predator who’s got their prey cornered. “I do believe we’ll make a scientist of you yet, Miss Wilde.”

_I never should have taken this job._

* * *

Lunch sees Avery sitting alone in the break room, trying in vain to choke down the overpriced bottle of ginger ale she bought from the lab’s commissary so that she can at least say she had _something._ The time passes so slowly and so fast. On the one hand, she’s struck by the urge to never set foot in that room again, leading to the feeling that her break was too short. On the other hand, she craves the feeling of doing something, and so her idle hands make one hour seem to stretch on forever.

All she can do is mentally beat herself up for taking this job. For not running out of here and reporting Bishop to… somebody. Then again, who would believe her? And where would she find another job in the field she trained for? She can’t sponge off of her friends forever.

This is an impossible situation. Things are inhumane here, and she feels as if she’s betraying her own morals by not quitting on the spot. But she needs a job, and this was the only one in a couple of months that she’s been able to find. Her only hope is that if she continues to work here, she can change the way that at least Leatherhead is treated, since she’s the only one besides Bishop who will be dealing with him from now on. It’s not much. Until she saves up enough money to take care of herself and then finds some other job that doesn’t involve working for a cruel place like this, it will have to be enough.

When she clocks back in, Bishop is waiting for her by the door of the room again. He lets her know that she’ll be on her own for the afternoon, tells her were the sedative and syringes are should she need them, and says that if she needs any help, all she needs to do is press the red button on the pager that he gives her. He also graciously allows her to keep her bottle of ginger ale in the room with her, as long as she’s careful not to spill it.

With one last reminder that she’s always being watched, he leaves her to her work.

She walks in wordlessly, closing and locking the door behind her. The sound of her footsteps seems to echo as she walks over to sit down, placing her drink on the computer desk and her purse next to it. The document she was starting to organize was saved and closed when she went for lunch, so she has to reopen it.

More than anything she wants to say something to Leatherhead. Something nice. But what can she really say? _“Hey, sorry Bishop is such a dick! I wish I could do something about that.”_

“Okay,” she murmurs, eyes roaming over the document. Although she got a good chunk of work done with organizing the disarray it was left in, she’s still got a lot of work ahead of her. It’s probably going to take the rest of the day to fix this. “… Bishop did say he wanted me recording vitals every hour, so I should probably do that before I start in on this, I guess.”

She grabs her clipboard and pen, walking over toward the tank to check all the monitors. Leatherhead is upright again, watching her with what looks like a curious expression. “Miss Wilde… may I ask you a question?”

Her muscles tense up only because she wasn’t expecting him to speak to her first. She glances up from the clipboard for a second before returning to copying down numbers. “Oh, you, uh… you don’t have to call me that. Just Avery is fine, if you want. And, ah… yeah, go right ahead.”

“This work you are doing – do you enjoy it? I am passionate about the sciences myself, but regretfully, I have never been quite as enthusiastic about numbers themselves.” His head tilts to one side. “It seems you are good at them. I… merely wondered if that talent translated to a passion for you.”

“Oh, well… actually, yeah.” It’s not something she thinks about on a regular basis. Being asked a question like that makes her realize exactly how she feels about her work, though. “I’ve always been good at math. Ever since I was in high school, you know, I was always in those honors… gifted math classes. Science… is kind of the opposite. I mean, I like science, but I’ve never been great at it. It confused all my teachers and my parents. Like, ‘wow, how can this girl be taking an advanced calculus course and not be able to wrap her head around basic cellular structures?’ Heh.”

She pauses again, and her pen taps absently against the clipboard. That’s something she wondered herself, to be honest. It didn’t just baffle her parents and teachers. “I never figured it out either. Just… figured I wasn’t smart in _that_ way.”

A rumbling hum of thought comes from Leatherhead’s direction. “Scientific concepts and processes are always changing. New things coming to our understanding and rearranging the way we must think. Perhaps that is the issue for you. Numbers are more… constant. For example, unless the equation is complex, then two plus two will always equal four.”

“Mhm,” she agrees. The tapping of her pen stops. “If you make a mistake with science, you don’t always know if it’s your fault or if there’s some… some other variable that was out of your control. If you make a mistake with numbers, you know it _has_ to be something you did. And it’s funny, I… usually don’t like every day to be exactly the same. But for some reason, I like the fact that numbers are… well… reliable.”

That expression Leatherhead is giving her is something indescribable. She can’t tell what he’s thinking, if he’s thinking about anything in particular, or even whether or not he’s thinking about her. Soon enough, however, it softens into a smile. “There is nothing wrong with wanting a little predictability. Too much spontaneity leads to chaos. Too little leads to boredom. One needs to find balance, and it seems you know what is comfortable for you enough that you have found that balance.”

A smile of her own creeps up, aimed at him. “You know, if someone asked me what I’d be doing today, ‘being complimented by a talking crocodile’ wouldn’t have been very high on my list of guesses. Not saying it’s a bad thing, you know, but it’s just… it doesn’t feel real, hah. You’re really very observant.”

It seems he doesn’t quite know how to respond to that… which she supposes is fair. Instead, he continues to watch her, proving her point about him being perceptive.

Avery returns to jotting down all the measurements, straightening up to head over to the computer once she’s finished. “Speaking as someone who deals in numbers, by the way, it’s easy to tell that these things were being recorded and entered by people who have no idea what they’re doing. It’s just lucky this wasn’t over _months_ of having unqualified personnel do it, or I’d be spending my first week here fixing what they fucked up.”

That same vibration meets her ears, only this time it sounds more like what she’d imagine a crocodile laughing might sound like. “Is it that bad?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s a mess!” She scoffs as she pulls up the document, pushing her hair behind her ear. “The medical relevance should have given them incentive to not screw up so badly. See this number here?”

Her finger points at an area on the screen for clarity since she knows Leatherhead probably can’t read it from where he is even if he’s literate. “This looks like it’s from about a week ago, and it’s listed as an oxygen saturation measurement. Except that it’s reading as a measurement of blood pressure, with one number over another. I’ve never worked a day in a real medical field and even I know what a blood pressure reading looks like. These spreadsheets can be confusing, but they should have kept things simple, because there’s no way that number is an oxygen sat.”

“An amateur mistake,” he quips. “Though it could happen to anyone, I am sure.”

“It could.” She nods, offering another look at the screen. “Like I said, they needed to keep it simpler. This is problematic because most of the time, measurements aren’t displayed the way a blood pressure is. Say you had a fever one day, and they recorded that number, but they put it in the spot for a heart rate. Those numbers are displayed the same way. Since I don’t know what the normal measurements of those are for you, let’s use the normal ones for a human. Normal heart rate for a healthy human is… oh, I think anywhere from 60 to 100, if I’m remembering right. So let’s go with 100. Normal temperature is about 98.6, give or take a few tenths of a degree.”

The chair spins around with Avery in it, and she rests her chin between her hands. “Even if the numbers got switched, if they were average or just slightly off, then it might not cause any problems. But if you have a high fever of, mh, maybe 103-104, and that number gets put in the heart rate area, it won’t look that abnormal, and as long as your heart rate is normal, if that gets put in the temperature area, then it also won’t seem suspicious.”

As smart as Leatherhead clearly is, he likely got her point long before she explained it. “If everything looks normal, then no one will be alerted to the fact that something needs treatment. Or at the very least, the records will not be accurate, and it is always better to be accurate.”

“Not that I think anyone around here cares about being accurate.” She rolls her eyes and tosses her blonde ponytail over her shoulder. “So, while I try to put this stuff back in some kind of order, you mind if I ask _you_ a question this time?”

“Please.” That odd little smile of his makes a comeback. This time, there’s something melancholy about it. “Some good-natured conversation would be a pleasant change of pace. I… am often quite lonesome in here, and any visitors I do receive are not as friendly as you.”

That’s something she can understand. It seems like the only person he ever sees is Bishop, aside from the various people who have come in to record and enter vitals. Part of her thinks she couldn’t imagine being that lonely; another part of her knows that she’s been through it already. Of course, when one adds in having experiments performed on them that are likely very painful, every day here must be unbearable.

Perhaps this is the difference she makes.

Instead of changing the world with her work, maybe her impact is to be a small spot of light in someone’s darkness.

“Well, I, uh… I try my best. This is all kind of new for me, you know? The whole… mutants-and-aliens-are-real-and-I’m-talking-to-a-sapient-croc thing. I just… don’t see any reason to be rude to someone unless they are first. You’ve been pretty friendly yourself.”

She gives him the same smile, then turns to continue her work. The cameras are watching and listening, after all. If she’s seen getting too sentimental and slacking off on her first day, she’ll be out on her ass so fast her head will probably spin. “Uh, so, well – you said you’re… passionate about science? I don’t wanna cross boundaries or anything, but I just wondered, you know, what kind of science you were into. Do you do experiments like Bishop’s?”

Almost immediately once those words are out of her mouth, she realizes that was possibly the worst way to phrase that question. For someone who’s being put through deliberate agony, the last thing they’d want is to be compared to their captor. Leatherhead lets out a vicious snarl as soon as he processes what she’s just said. “Bishop is no scientific mind!”

His eyes change – turning a brighter green, his irises shrinking into something long, sharp, and wild. Three-fingered fists pound on the tank’s glass, and his tail swishes rapidly through the water.

“These are not _experiments!_ They are _torture sessions!_ ” A primal roar from somewhere deep in his chest makes the room shake. “I am _**NOTHING**_ like him!”

“W-whoa, hey, hey, o-okay! Okay! I’m sorry!” The force from him hitting the glass is enough to send that syringe full of sedative rolling off the table. In an instant, Avery jumps up from her chair and hurries over to the tank. That may not be her smartest idea, as most people would run in the other direction when confronted with an angry animal, but at the same time, he’s clearly in distress. How horrible would it be if she just ignored that? Especially when it’s her fault that he’s upset?

Despite another bellow from him, she steps closer and places a hand on the glass. “Leatherhead! H-hey, please! Please, I’m sorry! Just – just please calm down – you’re going to hurt yourself!”

He growls at her again in a way that implies he’s not even close to being ready to calm down. Then he raises his hand, presumably to rattle the glass a second time, and his fingers spread out in a way that would align with hers if their hands weren’t so different. This seems to catch his attention, because his gaze drifts down to it.

A few seconds pass in relative silence. Finally, his eyes revert to the way they’ve been, and he casts a weary, half-afraid look to her. “… I… am so sorry.” He moves his hand away from the glass, trying to back up as though he’s afraid of his own strength. “I did not mean to frighten you…”

His hand shifts to cover his face. “I am so ashamed. Bishop is right… my temper… it is so dangerous… and it is something I cannot always control. Please… do not let my monstrous nature drive you away… I do not want to hurt you. You are the first nonthreatening presence I have known since I was brought here, and I know we have just met, but… but you are _kind_ and I have repaid you by terrifying you. I-I am sorry, I…”

“Oh, God, no, no, I… I forgive you. It’s… not totally your fault…” She keeps her hand on the glass, and even moves her face closer in an attempt at coaxing him to look toward her. “That was a really bad choice of words, and I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you’re anything at all like him. You’re not. Are, um… are you okay?”

The look he gives her practically makes her heart break. It’s as if he doesn’t grasp why she ought to be worried about him, as if he’s never been asked that question before in his life. He exhales through his nostrils and closes his eyes. “Yes, I believe I am fine. Again… please accept my apology. Usually I can stop myself after a few seconds, especially if I realize I am out of line… but since coming here… these episodes have become so much worse. It seems as though I am bursting at the seams with anger, and sometimes… I cannot keep it from spilling forth.”

“To be fair,” she says softly, “this situation would wear down anyone. It’s no wonder that any kind of stress you had before has gotten worse. I’m sorry you have to deal with all of this. Believe me, if I didn’t need this job…” A quiet reminder that she’s being listened to prevents her from saying anything negative about Bishop or her willingness to be here. “Well, anyway. Let’s just move past it, okay? Apology accepted. Do, uhm… do you accept mine, I hope?”

“Of course! Even though you acknowledged it was not a good choice of words, I… I overreacted.” He still backs up as best he can. “Please excuse me for keeping you from your work. You were brought here to manage data, not to converse with me.”

Her hand pats lightly against the tank, given that she can’t well reach inside, before she heads back toward the computer. “Well, sure, but… talking helps pass the time faster, and you said you’re lonely. So isn’t it nice to talk? I can do my work and talk at the same time. Single-tasking is for squares.”

She sits back down, taking a sip of her drink to get herself settled back in. “So, like I was asking, uh… what kind of science is in your wheelhouse? Biology, geology, engineering?”

The pause he gives her seems shy. Thankfully, he does answer after a minute of thought. “To tell you the truth… I seem to be fascinated by everything, so it is a mix. I frequently build things, but at the same time, I also find myself researching the Earth and various creatures. As I said, however… nothing like the way Bishop goes about things. Are you truly interested in this? You did say you are not keen on the sciences.”

“Oh, no, I’m very keen! I’ve just never been good at applying the concepts or doing the experiments, you know? The world fascinates me, too.” Her fingers fly over the keys as she starts to focus on doing the rest of this organizing. It’s going to take a while. That gives them plenty of time to talk. “Even though this is a little weird, maybe talking about it with someone who doesn’t judge me for having a little trouble would help. If it’s okay, I’d love for you to tell me about some of the things you do.”

“Okay? That is better than okay. I have not had a scientific discussion with anyone in some time.” He hums, the sound of water being flicked about by his tail echoing. “What type of scientific endeavors would you like to hear about first?”

Avery hums right back, and a sincere, if tired, smile spreads over her face. It’s reflected in the computer screen so that Leatherhead can see how enthusiastic she is about this. “Well, why don’t you start wherever you want? I’d love to hear about everything.”

* * *

Leatherhead stays at Bishop’s lab for several months.

Miraculously, Avery isn’t let go after the first week.

The more she works around him, the more she gets to know him as a person rather than as some kind of project like Bishop wants her to see him. He’s unbelievably smart, and before he was captured by Bishop, he apparently had his own makeshift laboratory. Studying things and learning how the world works is something he’s passionate about.

More than anything else, he wants to figure out how to use advanced technology to reunite with his family. When Avery presses that subject further, he reveals to her the story of his life. He started life as a pet who was flushed into the sewers, or so he thinks. He was picked up by aliens known as Utroms, who took him in to study him. While under their care, he was exposed to a mutagen they’d created that turned him into what he is now. Once they found out that he’d become sentient and sapient, these aliens adopted him.

For so long, they were his only family. He loved them. He had a mother, a father, siblings, friends. Not only that, he was able to develop his talents with science and machinery. It made him useful to them in addition to being adored, which Avery knew was one of the best feelings. Life was good for all of them, for him, for years.

The way he speaks of those days is so fond. He’s lost in those memories for a moment, as if they were the best days of his life.

Based on what comes next, they probably were.

One day, they were all attacked, and even though the Utroms were able to flee to safety in time, Leatherhead got accidentally left behind. Ever since, he’s been trying to get back to them.

He talks to her about what his life here has been like, too – before he got abducted by Bishop. In a kind of stereotype that’s come true, he used to live in the sewers. She gets the feeling he isn’t telling her _everything_ about that life, but that’s okay. It’s not like she’d told him everything about what her own life has been like. Regardless, he says it was lonely there, too, up until he met a group of brothers who were also mutated animals. Evidently, though, he didn’t know them for too long until he lost contact with them.

That brings them to here and now.

One day, Leatherhead confides in Avery that he’s afraid he’ll never be free again. He cries as he tells her he thinks he’s going to die here.

To see a big, strong crocodile shedding actual tears is a shock.

What’s more, she can’t stop herself from crying along with him.

By the point that he tells her this, she’s starting to think he’s right, and there’s nothing she can do to help him.

* * *

There comes a day when Avery suspects that Bishop ‘trusts’ her enough that he isn’t watching or listening to her every move anymore.

It’s a day when she does something that might not be too smart, and yet something she feels like she needs to do.

It’s a day when she comes into work and is told that she needs to wait an hour to record Leatherhead’s vitals; that Bishop’s just done it since he finished up an experiment on the big croc this morning. Although the idea horrifies her, she accepts it, hurrying off toward the room with the excuse that she should make sure the night crew noted down the sets of data before that correctly.

He’s in a bad state when she gets there. There’s a bandage over a good portion of his chest… what purpose a wound like that might serve or what kind of experiment was done, she has no idea, but he’s obviously in pain. He’s out of the tank, instead strapped to what looks like an exam table with tight restraints. Tears stream down his face as he roars in agony. It’s an unmistakable, wordless plea for his suffering to not be ignored or dismissed.

And it isn’t.

The door is locked behind her, frantically, so nobody can interrupt her as she rushes to his side. “ _Leatherhead!_ ”

He continues growling, and when he opens his eyes, the animal part of him is overtly visible. This is her indicator that he doesn’t know right now who she is, that he is lost to her right now. “Get away! GET AWAY!”

“Leatherhead, it’s me!” Her hand hovers over the bandage, then she thinks better of touching anywhere near it. Whatever injury was inflicted there, no doubt it’s raw. Touching it will only aggravate the situation. “It’s Avery!”

“ _Noooooooo!_ ” He snarls threateningly at her, snapping his jaws in a warning, as if he may actually attempt to bite should she come any closer. Despite the fact that she doesn’t know what the hell Bishop has done to him, she knows it can’t have been good. How terrible could it have been to put him in this kind of mindset? “Stay away from me!”

Were anyone else to witness this, they would call Avery crazy for what she does next. With very little hesitation, she reaches to undo all of the buckles that are keeping him restrained to the table. Her fingers fumble a little, trembling in fear, and it takes a moment to get him free. Before he can do anything in terms of getting up, she holds a hand to his stomach.

With her other hand, she sets her palm gently against the side of his face. “I will not! You’re my _friend._ ” Her thumb runs over that area for a few seconds, then, apparently just to press her luck, she moves her hand down toward his snout. A long moment passes wherein she simply strokes down the center, slowly, letting him see her hand, moving carefully into his field of vision so he can see her face.

“It’s me,” she breathes. Her eyes lock with his. “It’s your friend. It’s Avery. I know you’re hurting, but it’s going to be okay. Whatever he did to you, it’s over. It’s okay. I’m here now. You’re safe with me. Nobody’s gonna hurt you now. You’re safe.”

Gradually, his breathing evens, and his eyes return to normal. He still looks rattled, miserable, upset. Why shouldn’t he? To her, his anger is righteous and justified. The only problem with it is that when he gets so angry he shifts into being almost feral, she can’t help him until he comes out of it.

Within seconds, he’s weeping. For once, she’s able to feel him, because as soon as he sits up, he pulls her into a hug. He’s careful with her, as if he thinks she’s made of glass – as if he thinks he’s somehow going to break her. His muscles are all tightly wound, unable to relax, quaking. “I’m… I’m a monster! I’m so sorry… I’m horrible…! He’s right, he’s right…”

It’s a surprise. Neither of them have ever talked about what they might do if Leatherhead were out of his tank in any capacity. That said, it doesn’t take long before Avery’s arms are right around his neck, pressing up against him and trying to avoid his new wound. His scales are a little bit rough against her hands, but it’s nothing she can’t handle. Just a different sensation.

His words make her blood boil. Although his self-esteem clearly isn’t the greatest, she’s never heard him talk about himself quite like this before. Like he really _does_ think he’s a monster. Like he thinks there’s any kind of truth to what Bishop is saying. Like he thinks there’s _all_ the truth to what Bishop is saying.

“No, he’s not,” she whispers against his skin. She pats gingerly against the back of his head. “You are _not_ a monster. He’s the monster.”

There’s nothing she can say to truly change his mind, but by the time some of the scientists come to put him back in the tank, she’s calmed him down enough that he’s fallen asleep.

That is why she thinks Bishop isn’t watching the cameras in this room too often anymore.

If he saw the moments after that where she simply sat there watching the croc and petting his head, she’s sure she would have been out of a job in an instant.

* * *

When Avery talks to Leatherhead about her family, she doesn’t expect to be met with the sympathy that he gives her. Not because he isn’t a compassionate person, but because nobody else has reacted that way before.

She just figured all her life that everyone else’s parents were like hers. That it was normal to be put under scrutiny and be treated like there was something wrong with you if they decided what you did wasn’t good enough. Deep down, she always thought maybe, _maybe,_ it had nothing to do with her. That was a hope she’d held onto despite no one telling her it might be true.

Talking to Leatherhead about her mother and father cements it.

There are things she’s never opened up to anyone else about. When she becomes comfortable enough with him, she shares those things. Isn’t it only fair, since he opened up to her about things in his past?

She tells him that her parents were never supportive. At least, not to her. She’s the youngest of two girls, and for her whole childhood, they constantly praised her sister instead. If Avery managed to scrape up a C or even a B in science, instead of a D, it was less “Good job on this one! You’re getting better!” and more “Well, Kathy gets As in that class, so I don’t know what your problem is.”

Her older sister was the golden girl who could do no wrong. Kathy was the shining example of what their daughters should be – what Avery _could_ be if she only applied herself more, if she only worked harder, according to their parents.

When Avery graduated from university with a bachelor’s degree in mathematics, her father could only summon up a, “What are you gonna do with that, anyway, hon? Become an algebra teacher?”

When she got her first job, her mother’s response was an enthusiastic, “You’re… a cashier? Uh… oh, that’s great! You know, good to see all that money you spent going to college didn’t go to waste.”

When she got married, her father’s reaction as soon as she returned from her honeymoon was to ask, “So when are we getting a grandchild? You’re not getting any younger.”

When she got divorced two years later after being cheated on, all her mother could say when she called in tears was, “Well, we knew this was going to happen sooner or later.”

What she found out later was that she wasn’t the only one their parents put pressure on. As Avery told Leatherhead, Kathy had apparently cracked under the never-ending expectations of being “the best”; she’d started drinking during high school and had only gotten a handle on her problem in the past ten years. The past ten years, coincidentally, are when Avery has started to truly reconnect with her sister.

Leatherhead is so very comforting about this. His own parents, those Utrom parents he has, they were very supportive. He assures her that her parents are wrong – that she should be proud of herself, that she has done well with her life, that she is a wonderful person who deserves so much more than she’s been told she does. That parents should not treat their children like she was treated.

Being told, for one of the few times in her life, that she’s _worth something,_ stuns her speechless.

This time, it’s Leatherhead crying along with her.

* * *

Six months fly by as if they’re nothing, and yet, they’re so long.

One day, Avery gets a call from Bishop that wakes her up from a nightmare. In her panic, she wonders whether it’s possible that she overslept and is late for work, but her clock tells her it’s not even 5 A.M. yet, and she normally goes in at 8. Bishop tells her he needs her to come in early, which has never happened before.

Even though she doesn’t know what this is about, she figures that she could use the overtime, so she hurries to get a shower, get dressed, and grab something to eat. Within twenty minutes, she’s at the lab. What she sees shocks her beyond belief.

In the main area are four new mutants, of the same persuasion as Leatherhead, strapped down with scientists around them. These four look like turtles instead of crocodiles, and in the middle of it all is Bishop – as if there was any doubting that he would be.

“Oh, God,” are the first words out of Avery’s mouth. “S-sir? What’s going on? Are these guys…”

Bishop turns to her, light glinting dangerously off his glasses. “Thank goodness you’re here, Miss Wilde. I appreciate you getting here as soon as you could. We need all hands on deck today.” There’s a scalpel in his hand which the light shines off of in a much deadlier manner. It’s not pointed at her, but it makes her feel threatened all the same.

“These freaks are the lab’s new subjects. They arrived at about 0300 today. You’ll be responsible for entering data from their vitals and experiment results once we get it recorded. However, they won’t be your main priority. As I begin my first experiment, I need you to go into room 7 and stabilize Leatherhead. Use the sedative, if you need to; though you seem good at calming him without that.”

That comment is very much aimed at her, and it makes her anxious that maybe he _has_ been watching the cameras.

She glances toward where the room is. “… I… w-what? What’s the matter with him? Is he okay?”

One of the turtles makes this odd hissing-growling sound. “Ya got him locked up in here too?! What the fuck is wrong with you, ya crazy bastard?!”

“Miss Wilde.” Bishop’s tone isn’t to be argued with. “Please go take care of him while I deal with this group. He somehow discovered that they were here, and they seem to be pals of his. So he’s very upset this morning. He had to be restrained again, and I need you to ensure he does not try to break out of those restraints. Go on now, please.”

“Y… yeah… right… okay…” Avery’s heart pounds in her chest as she turns to head into the room, unsure of what will be waiting for her besides a distraught Leatherhead.

An aggravated shout of, “You’re not gonna get away with this!” from one of the other turtles follows her.

Leatherhead’s roaring can be heard even outside of the room. The pleas for them to be let go, for _him_ to be let go, intermingle with wordless yells to the point that she knows how enraged he is before she opens the door.

It’s still a sad sight when she does. He’s strapped to that table again, eyes cluing her in to the fact that he’s in that primal state. Of course, did she really expect him not to be? This is the most action this lab has seen in half a year, his friends are in danger, and there’s no telling what Bishop might do to Leatherhead once he’s done with the turtles.

The entire world is going a mile a minute as Avery races to his side. She almost loses her balance. “L-Leatherhead!” By this point, she doesn’t care. She doesn’t care, she doesn’t care, she doesn’t give _one single shit_ what happens to her or what Bishop will do if he finds out she did anything except what he told her to do. He doesn’t deserve her respect or compliance. If Leatherhead hurts her, then that’s fine; at least she’ll have done some small thing to help him finally get out of here.

At least she’ll have stood up for what’s right instead of cowering in the corner.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay! It’s me! It’s Avery!” One hand tries to hold Leatherhead’s arm down while she undoes the buckles. Just in case there’s a chance that hearing her doesn’t snap him out of it. “I need you to listen to me! You need to listen to me. Please. _Please._ ”

He grunts at her, pushing her hand off his arm and out of the way as if she’s made of paper. “Do not tell me what to do! You do not control me! You are one of _his people!_ You trick me with kindness, but you cannot be trusted! Let go of me!”

A small gasp hisses through her teeth. Despite knowing he didn’t mean it, that he’s not in his right mind at the moment and won’t be until he comes out of this rage-state, it still hurt. Not only the fact that her wrist is now throbbing, his words also cut deep. She tries to focus on a simple mantra of, _He doesn’t mean that. He doesn’t mean that._ “Leatherhead! I know you’re angry right now, but please listen to me. I’m begging you!”

She raises her hand despite the pain and sets her fingers tenderly against his cheek. Near his teeth. It takes almost all of her willpower. “Please. Your friends are out there and they need you and I am _trying_ to get you free so you can go help them. So you can go with them.”

“You… my friends…!” His chest heaves with panting that clearly takes a lot of effort. It takes a moment, but at last, he relaxes under her touch. “Avery… my friend… I am so sorry…”

“Save the apologies for later, okay?” Never mind that she doesn’t expect to see him ever again if he makes it out of here. Her other hand makes short work of the restraints, and as soon as she pulls away from him, she grabs scissors to cut the wires to his monitors. “There. Now, those – those turtles out there, those are your friends you told me about? They need help. You need to go.”

He immediately heads toward the door, then hesitates, looking back toward her. “… Avery… if I leave with them… we… you and I will never…”

“It’s okay.” She shakes her head. They’ll both be losing a friend, sure. But… “This is your only chance. You have to get out of here.”

“I… I am so sorry.” Even though he looks conflicted and it’s obvious he doesn’t want to leave her behind, there’s no question about what he’s going to do. None at all, and that’s how it should be. “You have been such a good friend to me. I will never forget you.”

“I won’t forget you either.” One step brings her closer to him, her smaller hand slipping into his for the briefest moment. “I’ll always be thinking of you.”

The way he gives her a reassuring squeeze is sad. It’s very light, because he knows his own strength. “And I, you. Any chance that we may meet again, I will be looking for it.”

She nods, and squeezes his hand as hard as she can. “Same here.” Then her hand falls away from his, and she gives him as hard a shove as she can toward the door. “Now go be happy.”

He nods in return, before running out to join a fight that seems to have started. The sounds of a battle for freedom surround her, muffled by the door, when she closes it.

Much as she tries to hold it back, she finds herself suddenly sitting on the floor, crying over the fact that she’s just lost one of her few friends.

It was more important that he get out of here so he wouldn’t have to live in pain, so that his other friends wouldn’t be hurt and possibly killed.

She made the right choice in helping him get free. She knows she did. She did something good.

Apparently, sometimes doing something good hurts like hell.

* * *

Avery isn’t sure how long she sits there. Even after she’s stopped crying, she feels numb and unable to force herself to get up.

When Bishop returns, surely hours after Leatherhead escaped with the turtles, he only has two words for her.

“You’re _fired._ ”

And just like that, she’s back to where she started.

The future looks bleak.


End file.
